


6 Pence None the Richer

by tokyonightskies



Category: Captain America, Captain America the Winter Soldier, MCU, Thor - Fandom, Thor The Dark World
Genre: Everybody likes Captain America, F/M, Jane is the best, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Steve needs affection, Thor likes giving affection, spoilers for captain america the winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyonightskies/pseuds/tokyonightskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clint liked it.” Steve defends himself when the other keeps giving him these judging looks as he’s scurrying about to clean up after himself. Thor only has a case of déjà-vu.<br/>“That’s hardly a compelling argument.” He retorts jokingly, rubbing his fingertip over the aluminum lid of his beer can. <br/>This causes him to pause, pucker his lips thoughtfully, and reply carefully, “Stark probably liked it too?”<br/>Thor barks out a sharp laugh, squinting his eyes shut and shaking his head in disapproval. “Barely aiding to your cause, Steve. Barely.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	6 Pence None the Richer

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between Thor : the Dark World & Captain America : the Winter Soldier. Much obliged to have seen both films to catch a. the content and b. the inspiration & references.  
> Jane/Thor/Steve, basically.

.

He’s taken his time adapting to this new life, enthusiastically digesting every scrap of history, pop culture and linguistic trend Darcy’s thrown at him during his stay in London town. It was difficult at first, with grief weighing down his mighty frame and clouding his thoughts, but gradually with Jane’s smiles and caresses, his friends’ company and this wide, vast realm to discover, he’s gotten distracted, purposefully and somewhat accidentally on purpose. Selvig sometimes sat him down to tell him stories, both scientific and not, alongside a decent-sized pint. Ian, lanky and easily flustered with red-tipped ears and wide eyes, would ask dozens of questions and gawk and squeak in disbelief.

Jane asks him whether or not she’d like to see his shieldbrethren again, those brave yet unseemly warriors he’s shared the battlefield of New York with, against his -fallen- brother. It’s from her, he hears of the Mandarin and what havoc he wrought upon Iron Man’s home. She smiles at him when he responds he must visit them and she convinces him to pack a bag of some sorts.

As expected, Tony, and his girlfriend Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts and the good doctor Banner as well, welcome him in a reconstructed tower. Everything is so pristine and sleek, chrome and glass and metal. So unlike the mess of his Jane’s living room and working space. There’s coffee at least, proffered to him in a grease-stained mug with a grotesque rendering of a cat. Darcy taught him about this idol before.

"You know Hello Kitty?!" Tony exclaims, nerve-wracked from insomnia and inexplicable thought processes. He fumbles with his phone and holds it between them, back directed at his face, "Say that again, the internet is at stake here!"

Thor breaks down in a wide grin and states slowly, punctuating every word, “Anthony Stark is very fond of Hello Kitty, I beg the good people of earth to send him more mugs.”

Needless to say the good doctor, who was present at the time, nearly flipped out and dropped his own cup, filled with a peculiar-smelling tea. He had been trying a self-invented drug, something starting with a T, if he recalled correctly, but so far the effects were inconsistent and highly unnoticeable. It had left him rather irked, so Thor was glad to see Bruce, with his graying short hair and wrinkled eyes, laughing about something for a change.

The spies were ‘god knows where’, Tony tells him in between sessions of working on engines for a top-secret project, that presumably has something to do with SHIELD - or so Thor suspects, at least, judging by the sheer size and form of those things- but he’s gotten the Captain’s address from Stark’s highly-advanced artificial intelligence, dubbed JARVIS. Probably after browsing encrypted files from Fury’s personal server, but he’s not picky on the details.

After spending a week at the ‘A’ Tower, -Bruce entrusts him with the knowledge that Tony procrastinates heavily on restoring all the letters spelling his last name, perhaps because of some stubborn affinity with the fan name of their previous alliance ‘the Avengers’ or because of his unhealthy sleeping pattern and the recent events concerning his personal life - Thor takes up the Captain’s offer to sleep over at his apartment // “ _It’s a lot smaller and more humble than Stark’s tower, but I got Netflix and a pretty comfortable couch, so that makes up for something, I guess. I also have my own laundry machine so you don’t have to worry about certain, uhm, clothing shortages?_ ” //

Steve’s apartment reminds him of that small, homely space in London, where Jane more often than not falls asleep with notes stuck to her cheek, and Darcy and Ian try and fail to inconspicuously kiss each other when no one’s watching and where Selvig’s pants have a special spot for themselves under the sofa. It feels familiar, but not exactly spot-on either. There are more shelves, full of books - politics (“Reagan? Who is this man, Steven?”) and history and sociology and a small decorations he most likely hadn’t picked himself. He has a gramophone, tucked away in some corner, and a nice television set, with a low coffee table in front.

Thor had smiled widely once he was inside, after meeting the neighbor. //“ _Sharon, hi, and you are?_ ”// He'd dropped his duffel bag, that old and thread worn thing, that used to belong to Selvig when he was much younger and less travel-weary, to the floor and stretched his arms, cocking his head to gaze at the Captain. He practically radiated contentment.

His first night there was spent catching up on the sofa, sitting there with a beer and a record playing on the background. Vinyl, Steve explains to him as he sets up the gramophone and carefully tucks the case back into the cabinet. Soon enough a sultry voice starts to sing on the snapping of fingers and a low bass. It’s different from what Darcy listens too, quick witty raps and indie rock and poppy tunes, and even more so from Selvig, who prefers violins and sorrowful piano melodies. Jane introduced him to bands like Foo Fighters (“I heard this before, in the bar, I believe so.”) Nirvana, Metallica and the White Stripes.

“Who sings this, Steven?” Thor asks, seated on the leather armchair, unpacking. He has the open duffel bag on his knees with H&M socks in the largest size scattered about. His voice gives off weariness, as he’s distracted by trying to collect and organize the pairs, “She sings rather lovely and it’s a genre I haven’t encountered before.”

It takes a moment for the Captain to respond, as if he’s struggling with an emotion he’d rather not acknowledge. Thor notices, because it’s distinguishable in the heavy pause that follows his question and in the uncomfortable reflexive crunch of swallowing something that shouldn’t be there.

“Peggy, Peggy Lee. That’s her name. It’s…, this song is called Fever.” He responds, one hand slicking back his hair and the other loosely by his side. The follow-up laugh is too uncomfortable, but he bravely continues, “She was all the rage when I was _younger_.”

He nods politely, comparing two completely different socks before scoffing and throwing them back inside the bag. Steve merely shakes his head, picks them up gingerly and puts one on each side of the armrests. It earns him a heartfelt smile.

“Do you like guitars?” He wonders, and then elaborates, “My friends have showed me a lot of artists from this realm, I’ve grown fond of Nirvana and their talented _drummer_.. You should give them a listen, Steven. It is nothing like this, but still, it’s worth a try, correct?”

The suggestion gets scribbled into a small notebook, together with the caption band between brackets, for future reference. They settle down on the couch after Thor’s finally managed to unpack completely and the Dominos guy came with their extra large pepperoni pizzas. Everything was relaxed, quiet aside from the record playing on the background and their chewing noises, comfortable. Many stories about earth and adaption are exchanged, about movies and economics and the people they’ve met and eventually the conversation shifts to what happened in England. Nothing’s easy, all the grief bleeds into the atmosphere and he allows the half-eaten slice in his hand to grow cold and crusty as he talks. _Just keeps talking_.

Thor apologizes mid-sentence, abruptly, “My sincere apologies, Steven. I do not wish to bother you with words of my anguish..” His fingers barely register the feeling of pizza crust and cooling tomato sauce. Somewhere in the foggy recesses of his brain, Loki’s skin color turning from a pale pink to gray keeps replaying, over and _over_ again. His mother is there too, on the floor, her profile contrasting against the golden floor.

Everything clears out when Steve gingerly places a hand on his shoulder and smiles gently, in encouragement and whispers, “I don’t mind, Thor. I don’t.”

In the dim lighting, Steve’s face is the only thing that stands out, his plush lips and his bright blue eyes and his short flaxen hair. It makes him return the gesture and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. He finishes his pizza slice and chuckles despite himself, because it tastes awful and the cheese sticks to his tongue and his palate. Everything gets laid out into the open, how his brother foolishly died the hero Thor suspected he didn’t want to be, how his mother engaged Malekith and lost, the final fight, his retreat from Asgard, his love for Jane and his adjustment on Midgard. His chest feels suspiciously lighter, it’s easier to breathe. They drink their beers complacently, in a comfortable silence.

“Do you wanna watch a movie tomorrow night?” Steve wonders suddenly, as he gathers the empty boxes and cans.

He nods and it’s only then he notices the record stopped playing and the digital numbers on the clock blink a glaring 3 : 57 in a bold red. Not tiredness prompts him to yawn, but force of habit, it’s around this time he wakes up in Jane’s empty bed, sneaks into the living room, picks her up from her desk where she was adding some equations to her thesis and eventually fell asleep, and brings her back to the bedroom. He misses her, but a discomforting image of curling up next to Steve pops up into his mind. Eventually the thought disappears in the motions of cleaning, brushing teeth, changing and getting ready for sleep.

Before the Captain retreats to his bed // “It’s like a marshmallow, I swear I’d sleep better on the floor than _that_ mattress they got for me.” // and offers his goodnight in his loose white sleeping shirt and gray pajama bottoms, Thor inquires curiously, “Do you have someone to share your burdens with, Steven?”

His hesitation shows in the stuttering halt of his movements and he stares in disbelief at the man on his sofa, propped upright against two fuzzy cushions and covered from the waist downwards by a fleece blanket. He licks his bottom lip, unconsciously probably, and slowly shakes his head.

“I’ve been too busy to date, kind of difficult to ask a gal out when you’re battling trained mercenaries in the Sudanese outskirts.” Steve responds humorously, although his voice is strained and his eyes are wide open. He adds a quick _sweet dreams_ as he flicks the light and closes his bedroom door.

Thor echoes the words absentmindedly, alone with his thoughts and the lamp on the coffee table. His mouth is dry all of a sudden, from all the talking he did, and he feels rather scatter-brained, whatnot with the strange picture of him sleeping next to Steve popping up. It’s intimate, a lot more so than any sexual position could ever prove to be, as they’re simply coiled into each other underneath the sheets. He wants to Skype with Jane, tell her about his findings and the Captain’s discernable loneliness, but instead of reaching for the iPhone they’ve purchased three days after informally moving in, he sinks into the sofa and pulls the blanket up to his chin. Maybe all that’s needed right now, is sleep.

When he wakes, there’s breakfast –croissants, two apples and a banana, a bowl of yoghurt and a jar of strawberry jam- on the coffee table, with a note from Steve, informing him he went on a jog near the Smithsonian and that he’ll be back soon. Blinking groggily, he hauls a hand through his hair and notices he has morning wood. One of those mornings, then.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Can’t recommend a too long nap, I came out fine, but I don’t know how that might work for you.” Comes the teasing from the open doorway. Steve’s taken a shower, still wet and dry-toweling his hair. His face is somewhat red, from what Thor doesn’t know, but most likely from too hot water.

Thor wants to kiss him and it’s frightening as hell and he’s still hard, Darcy would be laughing ‘her ass off’ right now at his predicament. Glad someone would see the humor in this situation. Awkwardness fades as Steve dutifully, like the proper host he is, recites the number of miles he’s run and how he apologizes for not waking him up, but his face looked rather peaceful.

“We made it pretty late last night, huh?” He remarks, smiling brightly, and Thor excuses himself under the pretense he needs to go to the bathroom. It’s a necessity like another.

Jane is a blessing and it’s not the first time this factuality crosses his mind, but her kindness and empathy shows as another reminder. She eggs him on when he falters in his explanation, when he stutters and stammers as words fail him and when he simply looks down, refuses to meet her gaze.

She giggles when he bundles his knees to his chest on the couch and groans loudly for failing her. “You like him.” She teasingly accuses, and then, “Don’t feel bad for _liking_ Captain America. He was my choice of spouse, right after Tesla and Marie Curie.”

“Should I be concerned I hadn’t made that list?” Thor wonders, propping his chin on his crossed arms and staring miserably at the screen of his phone.

An eye roll suffices as reply. Jane states matter-of-fact, “I was under the assumption you were pretty much made up, at the time. Listen, Thor, I know you’re not disloyal of me.” Her mouth quirks up into a heartfelt smile, with a hint of teeth. She says afterwards, “You’re feeling for him, for his plight and pain. You want to take all that away from him, like he took yours away from you as you told him everything.”

He feels satisfied with her reasoning and murmurs, “Where would I be without your wisdom, my lovely Jane?”

“I could give such a sassy answer to that, but I won’t give Darcy the satisfaction of knowing she’s rubbing off on me.” She replies, smiling a little less heartfelt, and a whole lot more cheekily. Somewhere behind her, Darcy’s squeaking indignantly.

Later that evening, they’re watching a movie called Saw and there’s an extremely creepy puppet hissing _do you want to play a game?_ And Steve barely touches his popcorn anymore, merely staring wide-eyed at the television screen, wondering where exactly in these modern times every sense of value slithered to. Thor merely scrunches his nose in disgust when the characters have to resort to using the tool the movie keeps as a namesake. Once the end credits roll over a black canvas, the Captain whispers a shallow _thank god._

“Clint liked it.” Steve defends himself when the other keeps giving him these judging looks as he’s scurrying about to clean up after himself. Thor only has a case of _déjà-vu._

“That’s hardly a compelling argument.” He retorts jokingly, rubbing his fingertip over the aluminum lid of his beer can.

This causes him to pause, pucker his lips thoughtfully, and reply carefully, “Stark _probably_ liked it too?”

Thor barks out a sharp laugh, squinting his eyes shut and shaking his head in disapproval. “Barely aiding to your cause, Steve. _Barely_.”

Steve’s back next to him on the couch in the blink of an eye, playfully pushing at his shoulders and mockingly apologizing, “I thought horror meant something in this day and age, thunder god. Forgive me for holding hope.”

He captures his wrists, feeling how solid they rest against his palms, and pulls the Captain closer to him. His voice is solemn when he says, “I. I forgive you. Your judgment in battle proves superior to that in matters of entertainment.” They’re both laughing at that, caught in the absurdity of the situation.

Neither mentions how Thor’s still holding onto him. Even though he expected Steve to _say_ something, but he notices how the Captain leans into him, suffering from lack of touch and comfort. On own volition, his thumbs simultaneously rub circles into the flesh. Still, no one utters a word, but the Captain sighs, deeply, as if the air forces itself out his lungs and between his clenched teeth.

“Tell me something.” Thor prompts, trying to keep his bottom lip from trembling. “Anything, you want, _need_ to say, my friend.”

Steve blinks slowly, taken aback and wiggles his wrists free from the hold. His fingers massage his right wrist, not so much as to ease the skin, but more to have something to do. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, then his lips smack together again and he shakes his head, grimacing.

“How long are you staying, Thor?” He asks, sounding exhausted, but their proximity is made so much more apparent because he doesn’t remove himself from the couch. His gaze falls onto the clothing hook, where Mjölnir hangs from its leather strap.

 “Until Thursday.”

It gives him reason for a dry rasp of a chuckle and a _now that’s ironic_. They both settle into sitting positions, upright and upper arms barely touching. Thor feels his heart thumping in his chest, tries not to focus on the Captain’s slumped shoulders and bravely extends his arm, looping it around his friend.

“I visited Peggy.” Steve begins, an unspecific quizzical statement which unexpectedly causes him to drag the Captain closer to him, until his forehead bumps into his shoulder.

That’s the evening he learns everything there is to know about Steve Rogers. Before and after the ice, about how _goddamned_ busy he keeps himself because what else can he do, Thor? Peggy is sometimes lucid, from medication or dementia he doesn’t know, and it breaks his heart into dime a dozen pieces. More things are left unsaid, the loneliness, the lack of a proper goal, the memories of battles and gunfire and gasoline. His current team, the one assigned to him by SHIELD, is exactly how he expected them to be and it fills him with a sense of complacency, fake familiarity. It’s unlike the team he had before, Thor struggles to remember the name, but he realizes how Steve misses them dreadfully.

It’s the melancholy that spurs him onwards to cradle the Captain’s chin and angle his head better so they’re looking directly at each other and press a chaste kiss upon his lips.

“I thought you had a girlfriend?”

“I have. I love her dearly, but I also care _for_ you, Steven.” He answers honestly, his conscience clear as he recalls Jane’s kind words. She understands him and understands his sympathy.

Steve quirks a brow, mouth pulled taut into a thin line. “Is this from pity?” His question sounds sour, even in Thor’s ears.

“No. You have nothing but my greatest respect. This..” He gestures around with his hands, motioning to the small distance between them. “This is compassion and sympathy, a sense of brotherhood.” His brows furrow together and he asks, “Is it unusual to show you care for someone with actions?”

“Jane knows, doesn’t she? About this, I mean.” Steve clarifies unsurely, palms curved over his kneecaps as he rocks unconsciously back and forth, out of anxiety or unfamiliarity.

He gets a nod from Thor and then, “She told me affection would work well for you.. I believe she also mentioned something about wanting to marry you as a child, but those details are better reserved when you meet her personally.”

“I don’t want to intrude on your relationship, so I doubt I’ll make her childhood dreams true.” Steve jokes, still hunched over, still rigid and strained.

Thor calmly trails his fingers down the back of the Captain’s neck, between his scapula. He whispers lowly, “I doubt my father would approve me wedding a married woman.”

“How _old-fashioned_.” Comes the quip as the tension slowly drains from him.

It’s enough to laugh about, to unwind and melt into each other, to kiss slowly and meaningfully. They don’t speak, just touch and drift into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up cramped and with a sore back because the couch wasn’t meant to accommodate a pair of godlike men.

Steve yawns and plops his chin in the crook of Thor’s neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You want to go out to the Smithsonian, today? I’m an exhibit.”

“I’d love to, although I believe I’m quite knowledgeable about your past thanks to last night’s conversations.” He responds, leaning backwards and rubbing his bearded jaw against the other’s temple.

“They probably have pictures.” He wheedles, chuckling at the abrasive motion of Thor’s stubble against his sensitive skin.

His reply is quick enough, “Marvelous. Breakfast first, I’m starved.”

“Priorities noted.” Steve says, before pressing a soft kiss against the column of his neck. He doesn’t scribble it down into the notebook, though, much to Thor’s disappointment.

He recounts the events to Jane, through an elaborate email. How he’s looking forward to coming back home, but also how much fun he’s had ‘hanging out’ with Steve, how he’s learned which little touches make the other stutter, hitch and knot and make a strange whining sound. As well does he mention that Steve felt extremely flattered by her childhood proposal and that he wants to meet up somewhere in the near future, to talk and thank her. Soon enough Thursday rolls by and they spent the entire evening before packing his duffel bag while distractedly watching one Star Wars movie and eating Chinese food. It was another night spent cramped up on the couch, but Steve fell somewhat asleep on top of him and he had his hand underneath the other’s shirt, fingers spread as he drummed them on his skin. Steve looked particularly well-rested the next morning and woke him up with a kiss on the nose.

It’s with a warm heart and a warm smile, they both take goodbye of each other. // “ _You should come over more. You’re a good pillow._ ” “ _I aim to please, my friend._ ” //

Only a month later, Thor watches three Helicarriers fall from the sky on the Darcy’s laptop screen, clutching Jane’s hand tightly as she clutches his tightly in turn. The quality is horrible, but he recognizes Captain America. Falling. And when he tries to dial his number, a computerized voice informs him it’s out of use. Darcy eloquently sums up his thoughts in one word. _Fuck_.

.

 


End file.
